


The Mystery Voice

by Lakritzwolf



Category: Desperate Romantics, When Love Comes Along (1998)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Music, Songwriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: WinterFRE2017 - Prompt 162 : “I fell in love with your handwriting.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khim_Azaghal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khim_Azaghal/gifts).



> I blame [this post.](http://mayyourbeardnevergrowthin.tumblr.com/post/157064244893/prompt-n-162-i-fell-in-love-with-your)

“This is crap! It’s total crap!”

The paper, already wadded into a ball, flew across the room but landed neatly in the wastepaper basket. Gabriel Rossetti, or Dante, as he was known to his fans, was a very kind, calm and patient man. Seeing him throw things made his agent take a tiny step back. 

“This is bullshit!” Gabriel pointed at the wastepaper basket and glared at his agent. “Gary, what am I paying this man for? Do you really expect me to sing this?” He crossed his arms and glowered at Gary, his agent as well as his friend. “It sounds as if he used a crappy software to generate rhymes!”

Gary could only shrug. “Well...” he said then. “I admit the quality isn’t quite what it used to be...”  
“Not quite, my arse!” Gabriel dropped his arms and then brushed his messy hair back. “My audience is going to laugh at me when I sing that!”   
Gary sighed and closed his eyes. “Look, Gabriel...”  
“Gary, you know I can’t perform that crap.”

Gary opened his eyes again. “He’s contracted. And it’s not as if I couldn’t fire him, but recording is due to start in six weeks and how are we going to get a dozen songs?”

Gabriel turned away with a sigh. True, he was a gifted musician, virtuoso on both piano and guitar, and while he had an amazing voice as well, he didn’t really have a way with words. He hadn’t had much of a career before Gary had stumbled across him in a club and found him a songwriter, because composing came as easily to him as breathing. Apparently that man had now descended into some sort of substance abuse, because nothing else could explain this utter bullshit. 

“I bet you that any random person out on the internet can do better than trying to write a love song that rhymes roses with Moses.”  
Gary cringed. “Chances are,” he said.   
“You know what?” Gabriel headed for his desk and sat down while he opened his laptop. “I put that to the test.”

Dante wasn’t the kind of superstar fangirls threw screaming fits over, but he had a large, solid fan base and several hundred followers on twitter. 

It was just a single tweet: _My songwriter is stoned and produces crap. I’m sure you lot can do better._

And since he didn’t want to be swarmed with letters or have his mail box exploding he added a post box as address, letters only since he didn’t want to drown in teddy bears or other well-meant gifts. One disaster with filled chocolates was enough.

As expected, letters began to arrive within a few days. And as expected, results varied. 

Almost half of it was heartfelt but unsubstantial fan mail, mostly from females, telling him how sexy he was and how sweet, and making more or less decent or indecent offers. Another portion was just meaningless rambling, just random words or the same sentence repeated a hundred times, clearly meant to fuck with him. Gabriel chucked those with a shake of his head. Why someone would spend actual money, even if it was only a stamp, for trolling someone was beyond him. 

The rest were real songs, from people who had very clearly made an effort. Only about half of those were worth looking at, though. 

He went through the same pattern every day for two weeks, and the deadline for the recording session approached. It was by the end of the second week when he opened a letter that made him pause.

It was the most beautiful handwriting he had ever seen. 

Gabriel spent some time admiring the neat, gently curved script and almost forgot to actually read it. 

It wasn’t only the handwriting that was beautiful. 

In the end, Gabriel realised that he had read the two songs at least ten times, either admiring the elegant wording or the perfect and beautiful writing. He found himself tracing the letters with his finger and trying to imagine the hands that had written them. Elegant hands probably, long-fingered and slender. Maybe the hands of another musician. 

Dante had a supporting band, but he would have given almost everything to have this person on his team. 

And then he discovered that this letter was the only one without a return address or an email, as he had requested. The only thing it contained was a note that transferred copyright to him. 

Strange how hard a blow that was. With a deep sigh, Gabriel put the letter aside and opened the last ones, but of course, now there was nothing that could match these two songs. 

The only thing he could do was drop another tweet, quoting a few lines of the songs and kindly asking for more. 

Three days later he found another letter written in that beautiful script. A few other people had tried but couldn’t even get close to these lyrics; this person had a way with words that was close to magic. Every single word was perfect, and even reading them for the first time, he could already hear the first fragments of melodies.

And again, no return address. Not even a name. 

So now he had five songs, and that was enough to start recording. Composing happened on its own. Reading the lyrics he didn’t even need to think. Gary was impressed. Gabriel went to twitter and begged for more, and also a name and return address since he would rather credit the artist than just claim copyright. 

He got another letter with three more songs. No name and return address.

Gabriel had collected the handwritten sheets at home; he had typed them and printed them to make notes, since he didn’t want to scribble on the pages with that beautiful handwriting. 

Every night he settled down in bed and grabbed one of the sheets that he had lying on his bedside table. He would reverently trace the elegant lines and curves of the letters and imagined elegant hands. Male or female? Did it matter? 

Well... in a way it did. Gabriel looked at those letters and tried to imagine a voice reading them. Tried to imagine the hands that wrote them. He would give anything to meet this person. And yes, he was hoping for the person to be male, but what right did he have to get any hopes up or even think of the person this way?

There was no way to thank them other than twitter. He added the plea to please provide him with contact details. 

He got more songs, but still not even a name. 

In the end, Dante issued another CD with twelve new songs, and he had called it The Mystery Voice. Twelve songs, and all of them written by the same person in that same beautiful handwriting. 

Gabriel still spent every evening before bedtime reading the songs. Traced the letters. Tried to imagine a handsome male face. Dark hair or blonde? Blue eyes or green, or maybe brown?   
He had no explanation why someone would want to stay anonymous who could write so beautifully, both in appearance and content. 

He went to twitter again and stated in no uncertain terms that he was ready to hire whomever it was writing those beautiful songs for good. 

Three days later he got another letter and the script made his heart beat faster. 

In it was another song, a love song, and it made Gabriel’s heart ache. It should have been on The Mystery Voice. Well, it would go onto the next one. 

But this time, there was also another sheet, written in that same beautiful script. But this one wasn’t as perfect. Not quite. The lines not as straight and the letters not quite as perfectly curved. 

_My name’s irrelevant,_ it read. _I’m happy you like my stuff, no one else does. I’m happy you can make them sound beautiful. Thank you._

Gabriel frowned at those words, but he couldn’t make any more sense out of them. He traced the letters with his fingers and wondered how hurt this person had to be. 

He desperately tried to communicate with the beautiful stranger. Because there was no doubt that they were beautiful, no matter what they looked like. All he had gotten in return were more songs. And in the end, a note that read:

_Your voice and music is the only beautiful thing happening in my life. Good things happen to other people. But you’re the one good thing I have. Thank you._

Another tweet. _At least tell me your name._

Another letter with another song. It was signed with _Mark._

Gabriel treasured this letter more than any other. Not only was this the most beautiful love song he had ever read, so beautiful it made him tear up, but now he had finally a name.

* * *

Dante did another tour, and he had twelve new songs. Or rather, thirteen. A special performance of a song that wasn’t on The Mystery Voice. A song that had made him tear up when he had read it for the first time. A song that now made his audience tear up. 

Every concert hall, he stared into the darkness and wondered if Mark was watching him. He would have shouted his name each and every evening if he hadn’t been so sure that this was the last thing he wanted. 

It happened on the final concert before he would head home again. It was a smaller venture in a large club in Auckland. 

Dante took his guitar and settled down to play the one song that still broke his heart. 

He was watching him intently. Dark blue eyes, long, wavy blond hair. Gabriel didn’t notice him at first, lost in his song, but happened to look up in the right moment. His first thought was that the guy was so handsome it was illegal and his second one that he had to try and hit on him. 

Their eyes met as Dante sang.

“I fell in love with the light in your eyes; I fell in love with the music in your soul...”

Dante sang, and the handsome stranger’s eyes didn’t leave his for the rest of the song. 

Gabriel had never been in such a hurry to leave the stage, and he just barely managed to intercept the handsome stranger before he would have left. He knew, he knew without a trace of doubt. He had seen it, there in the handsome stranger’s beautiful eyes. 

He had reached him and pushed past a few people to block his way. 

The young man stared at him. 

Gabriel reached out and took one of his hands. 

“Hello Mark,” he said gently. 

Blue eyes widened and his lips parted. 

“Hello,” he said. And then he smiled.


End file.
